


Anything for the Mission

by trashassassin



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Interrogation, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 17:59:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15176228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashassassin/pseuds/trashassassin
Summary: You've been suspected of a crime and Connor must interrogate you in a bit of an unusual way.





	Anything for the Mission

This was it. This was what his line of work had lead him to. Gone were the simpler days of dealing with deviancy cases. Now, the Detroit Police Department had him working on majority human cases, most of which were entirely mundane things, like petty theft or underage drinking.

And this case, on its surface, had seemed equally mundane: someone was embezzling money from a nearby high school.

_“This is our primary suspect,” Hank said as he slapped your photo onto Connor’s desk at around midday, when he’d finally managed to shamble in. “A really private individual. We’re having a hard time tracking her down. But, a quick look through her financial history revealed that she likes to frequent the Eden Club.”_

Connor remembered his previous time there well, a deviancy case involving a Traci that had murdered the man who rented her. He hadn’t been required to return since until that very moment.

_“There’s, uh, no polite way to put this,” Hank went on, a decidedly concerned look on his face. “Seeing as none of us are really her type, it was decided that our best bet would be to send you to try and get some information out of her, if you catch my drift.”_

And so, he found himself once again staring up at the glowing sign that read “Eden Club” from the passenger side of Hank’s car, contemplating every decision he’d made that had led him to this moment.

“Good luck in there,” Hank said, and Connor nodded before stepping out onto the street.

The club had been informed of what was to take place that night, so it was unlikely he would encounter any major problems while he was there. And yet, that didn’t help him feel any less… 

Nervous? Yes, nervous was the right word for the sensation that was flooding through his body.

The dynamic of the Eden Club had changed quite a bit since he’d last been there. No longer were the androids working there forced to stay locked up in pods until someone came to rent them. They now wandered freely, serving drinks and engaging in conversation with their visitors.

It had a pleasant atmosphere and, under different circumstances, he may have even had an enjoyable time.

But that was unfortunately not part of the plan for the evening. Instead, he confirmed his arrival with the owner, who was stationed near one of the exit doors, then made his way to the restroom to change into the uniform he had been provided.

It was called a uniform for the sake of convenience, but in actuality, it was a pair of tiny black shorts that left very little to the imagination.

Nervousness was promptly replaced with embarrassment as he examined his reflection in the mirror. This was, hands down, the most humiliating thing he’d even been required to do in the name of an investigation.

He packed away his former, much more comfortable, clothing into the suitcase he had been provided and handed it off to the owner, who was to hold onto it for safekeeping until the mission was over. At least he didn’t have to worry about someone stealing them while he was otherwise occupied.

Of course, he recognized that looking the part was only half of the equation; he would also be required to act the part, which would prove to be much more difficult. He certainly didn’t feel as confident as the other androids he saw walking around, so he would have to do his best to fake it.

He stood up a little straighter, but was careful not to stand up too straight, lest he appear stiff and unapproachable. 

He also made an effort to walk around as casually as he could, praying to whoever may have been listening that no one would approach him before his target arrived.

It took him a moment to spot you at first, seeing as your attire was that of someone who was trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

You were wearing a baggy, zip-up hoodie, the hood pulled over your head, leaving only the brim of your baseball cap to peek out from underneath it. He also noted that you were wearing a pair of dark glasses in spite of the late hour, which you promptly removed and slipped into one of your pockets.

A quick scan of your face revealed that you were, in fact, the person he was looking for.

Before he made his approach, he reached for his tie to straighten it out of habit, only to find it absent. No surprise there.

Once he caught your attention, it was likely there was no turning back. In an attempt to do so, he stepped into your path and put on his most charming smile.

“Hi,” he said.

 _Hi?_ That was the best he could come up with? And of course, he had to present it in the dorkiest voice he could possibly muster, likely partially strangled by nerves.

He silently cursed himself for botching the initial introduction so badly.

And yet, somehow, you didn’t seem to notice.

“Hi,” you said.

He took a moment to gauge your reaction in order to determine the best approach. You were definitely attracted to him, indicated by your flushed face and accelerated heart rate, which would make his job much easier than it could’ve been.

“Are you, er, free?” you asked, and he nodded.

“Right this way,” he said.

This was going well so far. He had been instructed to lead you into one of the free rooms once he’d garnered your attention and then to beginning the interrogation.

But he couldn’t just come out and ask you for the information he needed. That would be too obvious. Instead, he would have to find a way to coax it out of you.

You paid for a standard, 30-minute session and he led you into the Blue Room, which was the nearest available room, and locked the door behind you.

As soon as you were safely out of sight of the crowd gathered beyond the door, you removed your hood and hat, tossing the latter onto a chair nearby.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this again,” you said. “It’s just, today was so fucking stressful, and what better way to relieve stress, right?”

Your voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“Rough day at work?” he asked, seeing an opportunity to extract some information from you.

“Yeah.” You sighed. “Conferences are the worst.”

He walked up behind you and placed his hands on your waist, causing you to jump at the unexpected contact.

“What do you do for a living?” he asked.

His voice was low and soothing, quite unlike the tone he usually assumed for his interrogations.

“I’m a teacher,” you replied. “Over at the high school down the street.” You pointed at a spot on the wall, presumably in the direction of its location. “So, I assume you can understand why I didn’t want anyone to see me. If any of my students knew I came here, I’d have to change my name and move to a new country, or something.”

He lifted his right hand and grasped the zipper on your hoodie.

“Can I take this off?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you said. “No reason to hide in here, huh?” You sighed again, clearly distressed. “The truth is, I wouldn’t have to come here if I wasn’t so bad at the whole relationship thing.”

He unzipped your hoodie, then stripped you of it, setting it onto the chair along with your hat.

“I’ve heard that there was a bit of a scandal going on at that high school,” he said. “Have you heard anything about it?”

“Oh, that.” You finally turned to face him as you sat down on the edge of the bed, your posture taking on a more relaxed demeanor. “I didn’t think word would get out so quickly. It was only a matter of time, I guess.”

He studied your form now that he was able to get a good look at it, considering what to do next. He supposed that removing the rest of your clothes would be a logical next step and knelt down in front of you, beginning with your shoes and socks.

“From what I understand, their funds have been coming up a little short,” you continued. “They’ve already had to cut a few departments and they cut my salary. I’m still bitter about that.”

You grimaced.

Recent salary cuts? Perhaps this would serve as a motivation for you to steal money from the company. Having potentially discovered a lead, keeping up the ruse was now more important than ever.

Your outfit beneath the mass of the sweatshirt was simple, but classy, consisting of a maroon-colored button down shirt and a well-fitting black pencil skirt, which concealed the tops of a pair of black stockings.

Once your shoes, a pair of leather penny loafers, had been removed, he set them beneath the chair and started on your stockings.

“The truth is, I’ve always had an interest in androids,” you went on, the tone of your voice suggesting that you no longer cared whether he was listening or not. “And, no offense to you, obviously, but I’m a little embarrassed about that. Sure, android/human relationships aren’t unheard of, but they’re not common either and I feel like people would say I’m a freak, or something.”

“You’ll get no judgement from me,” he said.

“I should hope not.”

He took both of his hands and ran them up the length of your leg, grabbing hold of the silky fabric of your stocking between his fingers and giving it a gentle tug.

He’d researched a great deal of erotic materials before going out on assignment, so he was fairly confident that the services he was going to provide you with would be satisfactory.

Fairly.

“It feels great to get all that off my chest,” you said. “But, I think I’ve talked enough for the both of us.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you kept talking,” he said.

He’d already obtained enough information to have you sent in for questioning, by his estimation, but perhaps he hadn’t heard the full story yet.

He set your first stocking aside, then moved onto the second, allowing his hand to linger on your leg for just a moment after removing it.

He looked up at you, noting how the flush on your face had deepened and your mouth now hung slightly open in a soft _o_ , and he took this as a sign that he was doing the right thing.

He leaned over your body and pressed his lips against yours, counting down the seconds in his head before he pulled away. According to a few studies he’d read, the perfect kiss was constituted of exactly twelve seconds.

But you didn’t seem to be paying attention to such strict criteria. You’d taken the liberty of tangling your hands up in his hair, lifting yourself slightly off the bed in order to draw yourself closer.

When he finally pulled away, you were panting, your breath hot on his face, your lips red and puffy.

“God,” you said, your voice breathless. “It’s been too long.”

He had the sudden urge to ask you what you’d like to do next, but he fought against it. He was supposed to work there, after all; he should know.

You didn’t give him much time to consider his next actions as you reached out and gripped the back of his neck, pulling his lips back onto yours.

You laid back onto the bed until he was leaning over you, propping himself up with his elbows on either side of your shoulders. Without any prior warning, you wrapped your leg around his waist, drawing your body upward toward his.

His research had hardly prepared him for someone so assertive and he found himself at a complete loss as to how he should respond.

When you finally broke the kiss, you took hold of the wrist of his right hand and guided it toward the top button of your shirt.

“Take this off,” you urged, and he was silently grateful for your instruction.

Using both of his hands, he began to unbutton your shirt, drawing a moan from your lips as the side of his hand made contact with your newly exposed skin. Noting the reaction that this small bit of contact had drawn from you, he brushed his fingers down your abdomen once all of the buttons were undone.

Your muscles contracted under his touch and goosebumps rose to the surface of your skin.

He was certain that he’d gotten you into a state where you’d tell him anything he wanted to know if he played his cards right.

“I’m sure your recent money problems don’t help your stress,” he said.

“Another part of the reason I stopped coming here,” you said.

“What changed your mind?”

“I had a little extra lying around and figured one more time wouldn’t hurt.”

Extra money following financial difficulties. More mounting evidence that you were somehow involved in the theft.

He lifted the hem of your shirt from its place tucked into your skirt and brushed it from your shoulders with the tips of his fingers, allowing it to fall to the side of the bed onto the floor.

Your skirt was the last to go and, with a little help from you, he got it unzipped and shimmied it down your legs, leaving you in nothing but a mismatched set of underwear.

“You really know how to make a girl feel special,” you continued. “Of all the times I’ve been here, no one’s ever—” You gasped as his lips made contact with your throat. “—no one’s ever taken such an interest in my life.”

He felt a twinge of guilt at your words. You certainly didn’t seem like a hardened criminal, but then again, harden criminals seldom did.

“What’s your name?” you asked. “So I can request you next time? If I decided to come back, of course.”

“My name is Connor,” he said.

“Connor,” you repeated. “I’ll have to remember that.”

Of course, you wouldn’t find him again if you came looking for him. You probably wouldn’t even want to once he was done with you.

For the time being, he wasn’t done with you yet; he would have to give you your full money’s worth of time.

He pressed his lips back against your throat, gently sucking against each place they fell as he’d seen in so many of the videos he’d discovered.

Your body tensed against his, your hand rising to meet his chest, your nails scraping against it, a seemingly involuntary response.

This was the most intimate contact he’d ever received and it would’ve been a lie to claim that he wasn’t enjoying it. Your hand was warm and soft; all of your skin was soft and smooth, curving in and out in all the right places.

He grabbed hold of your thigh and drew it back up onto his hip, running his fingers down its length as he did.

But he couldn’t allow himself to get carried away. He wasn’t yet finished interrogating you yet, after all.

No matter how hard he tried to convince himself of this, all thoughts of the task at hand left his mind as you grabbed hold of his face and kissed him. Again and again, you kissed him, your rhythm needy and unrelenting.

Your lips were uniquely soft and plump, and they meshed perfectly with his own. It was an entirely new feeling that sent his head spinning, way better than he had ever imagined it would be over the course of his research.

Using his body as leverage, you lifted your hips up toward his and began to grind against him, a throaty moan escaping from your mouth as you pulled away for just a second.

Your intentions were clear and it was now up to him to decide what to do with them.

He slipped his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and slid them down your legs, tossing them aside with no real care for where they landed.

“Yes,” you gasped.

You sat upright, straddling his lap and, once again, took hold of his hand to guide it to the front clasp of your bra. He studied it carefully, determining the best way to undo it without making a fool of himself.

Taking the forefinger and thumb of his right hand, he pinched the two sides together, causing it to pop open in one seamless motion.

You nipples hardened in response to their sudden exposure, the effect only heightened as he took one of your breasts in his hand, kneading it gently with his fingers.

All of your skin was so pleasantly soft and warm, and suddenly, he had the overwhelming urge to touch you all over.

His hand traveled from your breasts, following the soft contour of your waist and the curve of your hip, trailing over your thigh and coming to a stop at your entrance, which he gave an experimental brush with two of his fingers.

“Ah, fuck!”

Your eyes fluttered closed and you began to rock against his hand.

You were already so wet and the thought that _he_ had put you into that state stirred something within him. So, this was how it felt to be wanted, desired.

He had never been terribly aware of the presence of his sexual organ, always assuming its inclusion on his body was merely for aesthetic reasons and nothing more. But now, he could hardly help but be aware of it and the painful, longing ache that it produced.

This was the first time since he'd turned deviant that he'd experienced the feeling of lust. It was an all-consuming fire coursing through him, just waiting for the opportunity to be extinguished, hijacking every thought he had and replacing it with this singular goal.

He shoved you back onto the bed, all previous hesitations he had been harboring far from his mind as he discarded his “uniform” into the growing pile of clothes.

He hovered over you for just a moment, his eyes locked firmly with yours before plunging into you.

Your entire body went rigid, your back arching off the bed as you cried out in response.

“Ah, Connor!”

His name came out as a whine, an exclamation, punctuated by a series of soft cries as he thrust into you over and over again.

The sound sent a jolt of pleasure surging through his body, spurring him on to continue all the more. He felt every logical thought he’d entered the room with slipping away along with the sounds that had once surrounded him: the soft whir of the vents on the ceiling, the ambient sounds of music and voices outside, even the creaking of the bed frame beneath him.

All he could focus on was the sound of your voice and on your scent, which hit him in an overwhelming wall as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. The irrational part of his mind made the decision to commit it to memory down to its last unique note, connecting it with your face should he ever need to retrieve the information in the future.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your hands grasping wildly at the skin that covered it, wandering from there to the contours of his shoulder blades and the small of his back.

Your hands wandered aimlessly, gracing his entire body with warm, featherlight touches. Every once in a while, they would grasp at him again when he managed to hit just the right spot, followed by an increase in the volume of your vocalizations.

Regardless of what he had originally come there to do, his only objective now was to please you and, judging by your reactions, he was succeeding.

Gone was your previously worried expression, replaced instead by one of bliss, your head thrown back, your eyes closed, your lips slightly parted.

The way your body tensed beneath his, he could tell that you were approaching your release. And if he was interpreting the sensations overloading his system correctly, he was, too.

A moment later, your entire body stiffened as you wrapped yourself around him, your arms and your legs gripping him more tightly than your frame would’ve suggested was possible.

You cried out again, a mishmash of his name and a stream of incoherent murmurs as your voice began to fail you.

This was more than enough to finally send him over the edge, his entire body going numb as the last of the sensory input that had once been there faded away, replaced entirely by the most intense feeling of pleasure he could’ve ever hoped to experience.

As he came down from this high, he once again became aware of your presence, of the feeling of you nuzzling his neck, of your soft, steady breaths against his skin.

You took his face in your hands and looked up at him with a warm smile on your face.

“That was amazing,” you murmured.

He was able to muster a returning smile in spite of the fact that he had become aware of something else: the increasingly loud sound of voices and footsteps from outside the door.

He suddenly remembered his purpose there, the interrogation above all else.

The voices belonged to Hank and the club’s owner. It was likely the former had arrived to make an arrest, provided that Connor had acquired enough damning evidence.

And he had so he had to wrap this up quickly.

“Get dressed,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I suppose I am almost out of time, huh?” you said.

The look on your face suggested that you weren’t entirely coherent, but you were definitely about to be.

He gathered up all of your clothes and placed them onto the bed beside you, then got dressed as well.

As dressed as he could’ve been in the tiny pair of shorts he’d been provided.

Once you had put on all of your clothes and made a half-hearted attempt to return your hair to a presentable state, following a brief moment of hesitation, he unlocked the door, causing it to slide open.

“I’ve collected enough evidence to suspect that she may have been responsible for the crime,” he told Hank, who was standing just on the other side of the door. “Take her in for questioning.”

Just like that, the look on your face changed to one of horror.

“What is this?” you asked.

“Come on,” Hank said, motioning you outside the room. “You’re under arrest for suspicion of misappropriation of workplace funds.”

Your eyes, wide with shock, shot from him to Connor.

“What the hell are you talking about?” You made an attempt to wrestle free of Hank’s grasp as he cuffed your hands together, but it was ultimately futile. “How could you? I trusted you!”

Connor began to feel guilty once again as your words sunk in.

“I assure you, it’s nothing personal,” he said.

You sighed, your eyes shifting from his face to the ground as you resigned yourself to your fate.

“Hey, Connor,” said Hank.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“You look ridiculous, by the way.”

Having had quite enough of this whole ordeal, Connor returned briefly to the restroom to change back into his usual attire before stepping back outside to join you and Hank in the squad car, which escorted the three of you back to the station.

The next morning, he sat at his desk, idly twiddling his pen between his fingers, contemplating the previous day's events under the guise of evaluating his performance. He'd managed to extract enough evidence to have you arrested without raising suspicion and that was all he’d been asked to do.

But even after this fact had been well and truly established in his mind, his thoughts began to wander to other aspects of that night: the soft feel of your lips, you intoxicating scent, the way you called out his name in that sinful voice.

He could feel the flames of lust rekindling no matter how hard he tried to stamp them out.

He closed his eyes and sighed. It appeared as though it would take him some time to get you out of his mind.

He was forcibly drawn back into the present by Hank’s hand slamming down onto his desk, causing the pen to slip from his fingers.

“I got some bad news for you, lover boy,” he said. “That girl was totally innocent. Looks like the superintendent framed her in order to cover for his gambling addiction. Sorry to put you through all that for nothing.”

Connor stared at him, dumbfounded. You were innocent? Well, that certainly sounded like good news to him.

“Anything for the mission, Lieutenant,” he said.

Hank snorted.

“Figured you were gonna say that,” he said.

Truthfully, Connor had very much enjoyed the time he spent with you. In fact, he was quite pleased when he saw you loitering around outside the police station a few days later, once again donning the sweatshirt and baseball cap that he’d first seen you in.

He figured that perhaps it was time to introduce himself properly, and properly dressed, this time.


End file.
